and i know- you could hardly forsee that seemingly rando twist coming, , but quickly catch-up cuz this wordsmithin’ ain’t pausin,’

the truth is my Sister my SiBling is Miss King of the Ling- she being linguistically quite limber and a short-Fiction Lit Writer who is Literally Lit-up like pure ether light as an quill-pen feather untethered she’s leaving earthbound bloggers beneath her, because Seriously,

Because Matherton’s Magic Vapor is the one Phoenix Rising from all that creatively choked burned up ash and smoke,

and longing for the light my big sib heads straight-up and out to incense and infuse and write to blaze a tale that burns a trail of literary synaptic sparks that recharge and invoke that spirit of creative tenacity.

ok i know, i am officially OUT of all possible puns, metaphors, rhymes, similies and adorable “sounds-like? sorta?.” half-formed ideas concerning the topic of light, being like light and bright and “Lit” like “Literally” and! genius i be, “Literary, i.e. Literary short creative fiction is my bigsib’s preferred written-word specialty.”

Also the whole luminously “incendiary sparkplug of synaptic short-circuitry” as a metaphor attempting to illustrate Mysib’s Creativity, admittedly, didn’t get the first necessary charge of passionate inertia, that extra lil’ “oomph” of “go-get-em-tiger!” that all epically charged Phoenix/Lightning/Synaptic-Fired-up Central Nervous System metaphors (which, now, retrospectively, is perhaps slightly intense on the neurological descriptive accuracy … but oh phooey)

regardless, without that extra spark of a true writer’s elemental “oomph” of initial inertia or that “go get’em,” cheer that every sentence needs to perpetually maintain that light-speed that is simply unfeasible for certain individuals who lack that particular knack for these very same word-smithery feats of linguistic magical wizardry of which i speak,

for i, abby, mere Lil’Sib underling to my meta-Esteemed Ethereal Ember of Amber Hued Sentient pulsating Light-Living Being, the Big, the Elder, the Sisterly Cinder of incensory like a sixth-sensory wordly “Wowza” that truly IS Melanie Allen i.e. my BigSibling’s wisdom and capacity to imagine, express, and capture in words by transcending their form to truly bring life and depth to her creative Intelligence.

BigSib (unlike moi, which begs the question, “why, then, does she not simply STOP this horror wordBlitzkrieg she insists on consciously inflicting upon us unsuspecting readers? WHY, lilsib, why.”

(Shrug), i honestly don’t know. and it confuses me too. i feel your pain, but like- really. i do. and i’m sorry for all of this glossolababbling that is an insult to the english language and to my sister too. let’s just try to wrap this catastrophe-up as quickly as humanely possible, shall we? ok. ok, just gotta keep-on keepin’ on…we’re almost done. i swear…

so Melanie. my sister. the one with the effortless grace in her grasp on language’s positive features, such-as its unique usage as a convenient tool for human-to-human communication of various feelings, thoughts, and other stuff.

for all that, i’ve managed to get by with the expressive use of shadow puppets.

…sometimes interpretive dance. Drawing pictures with a notepad i wear draped around my neck attached to a sharpie- this has sometimes proved useful, particularly in frantic, wildly desperate situations of a fiasco-like nature.

but the capacity to use words like my sister, is something that not only folks such as myself, (those who seem somewhat incapacitated and non-linguistically degenerate) should seriously admire if not visciously envy like some feral, wild nocturnal critter who gnaws on garbage all night whilst they plot increasingly batsh&t crazy-cray schemes to steal my sister’s god given and hardwon way with the written word and with her boundless imagination, in all its wildness, weightless light that seems held aloft on black winged shining that spreads to silently embrace and enrapture so much seemingly infinite capacity for wonder.

even the most communication wordy-abled don’t have that unknowable something thst somehow has this transformative necromancy over the essence and composition of words themselves. it is an alchemical “Hutzpah” that somehow infuses words with dynamic life and deeply invoked dimensions of innate truths and reverberations of all-too-human universal knowing, truly talented writer extra-enervating all that fire-fueled comparative imagery (despite being absolutely appropros and dead-on in describing my sister’s genuinely brilliant and inspired body of writing with total accuracy)

and i think, at longlast! i have blessedly, for the love of good-god finally. just. puttered-out….fffbbptz.

see?! yay:)

so anyhoodles Melanie allen, at her blog, athertons magic vapor, (see and CLICK below please) is seriously KILLing it like blitzkrieg–world-war-Lightning at this Blogging A-Z Challenge aforementioned. (note: it is tots apropos to be awestruck gobsmacked mind boggled body-clobbered aghast agog aghape etcetera at the big sister’s luminous brilliance and magical way with words and telling riveting transformative tales that have a depth and meaning balanced with a seemingly ungraspable lightness brightness, humor and an effortless grace,

so not to get too worked-up but last of all! try to imagine standing on tiptoes, tethered to Stone and Ascending-to-Star…

that kind of longing, it exists inside all of us. somewhere, i’ll betcha…

hullo? is there anybody there? ...no, huh? sigh. thought not. Well, this is not a good feeling. what's wrong with me?? if you're there, please tell me ok? be brutal! be totally honest! i swear i can take it! (right. or just click "like" on the goddang post...)